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by AgingPhangirl (Madophelia)



Series: One-Word Prompts [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Word Prompts, Prompt Fic, thats a stretch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 05:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11845296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madophelia/pseuds/AgingPhangirl
Summary: Phil is lucky to be able to go away with his family every year to Florida. But, he's glad to be home.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of my celebration for reaching 800 followers on Tumblr where I asked people to send me one-word prompts

He’s lucky. He tries to remind himself of this at regular intervals, when his leg cramps in the tiny aeroplane seat, when he spills his orange juice in the flimsy plastic cup all over his lap and is given a single 2-ply napkin to mop it up with, when his bag is last off the carousel and he still doesn’t have enough signal on his phone to even tweet about his pain. 

He reminds himself as the taxi skids into a deep puddle, sending a spray of dirty rain water over his jeans to mix with the sticky orange juice. He’s lucky. Lucky to be travelling even when the recycled air of the plane has left a tickle in his throat, when the back of his neck is still ablaze with sunburn from that day they spent playing mini-golf and he forgot to put on sunscreen. He’s lucky, but he doesn’t really feel like it. 

His front door shouldn’t look like relief, but it does. It’s the entryway to a haven he’s been missing and he wants to crawl behind it and stay there for a while. Travelling is fun, but he’s missed his home. He feels it, settled and squirming in the pit of his stomach, wriggling around him so that he feels out of place anywhere else but here. He understands, then, why they call it home _ sickness _ because he’s queasy with it. 

It isn’t this door he’s missed. The white frame and wood of it doesn’t settle the uneasy sensation, it isn’t the quiet of his hallway, or the way the streetlamps, still lit in the dead of night, filter in to his living room from below casting bright orange stripes along the floor. It isn’t the hum of the fridge or the soft sound of the TV turned down low, playing the familiar menu music of a game he’s played for a million hours. 

He drops his bag onto the floor, scooting over to the couch, to the curled up ball of legs, arms, a dark-haired head tucked at an angle, a rounded fist pressed against a rosy dimple. His body rearranges, settles, feels right again. 

“Hey sleepy,” he says, running a weary hand through straightened hair, starting to curl at the tips in the heat of the room, feeling it swirl around the tip of his fingernail, smooth and soft. 

He wakes with a snuffle, murmured words Phil doesn’t catch but that are probably nonsense anyway. 

“Phil?” 

“Hmm,” he hums, pulling his hand free before starting at the same place again, petting him for all intents and purposes. The head under his hands leans into the touch. 

“I fell asleep.” 

Phil smiles fondly, bone tired and only now sliding out of his bad mood, into something sweeter, more gentle. 

“You did,” he agrees.

“Did you have a good time in Florida?” 

“Of course,” Phil replies, moving his hand finally, reluctantly, “glad to be home though. I missed you, Dan.” 

He doesn’t mean to sound emotional, he blames the splash of juice and the cold of the puddle down his front for how cracked his voices appears. 

“Mm. Missed you too.” He cracks an eye then, looks up. He’s sleep-ruffled and cosy, skin wrinkled where it’s been pressed into the pillow. He looks younger than he is, sending a spike of nostalgia through Phil’s head so sharp that he feels dizzy from it. 

“You should come with me next time,” Phil suggests. It isn’t the first time he’s suggested it, nor the first time Dan ignores the question. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Dan responds instead, heaving himself up from the couch and lingering in Phil’s space briefly. 

The light is still coming in through the window, casting patterns on the floor. Phil watches as Dan’s socked feet pad through it, breaking the line of colour parallel to the coffee table as he turns off the television before making his way through the flat.

Phil follows silently. They don’t exchanged many words as he peels his sodden clothes from his body, as they brush their teeth side by side, as they crawl in between cool dark sheets on a bed much lower than Phil’s is. The PC hums in the corner and Phil knows this is because Dan won’t sleep in the quiet when he is alone. There is a stuffed bear on Phil’s side of the bed and he places it aside as he climbs in. It has been a place marker for him, but it isn’t needed now. He’s home. 

They curve around each other, legs tangled, arms strewn haphazardly until they are settled, until they find the configuration that makes a soft sigh escape both of their mouths. 

“Night Phil,” Dan murmurs, “I’m glad you’re home.” 

“Night Dan,” Phil responds. He closes his eyes, feels the warmth of Dan pressed up close, knows the lights of all of Manchester are spread out below them, peeking at the edges of their curtains, seeping in to this peaceful cocoon. It can’t touch them here, they are safe, they are home. And yeah, he’s lucky. 


End file.
